The Lady
by Tatiana1
Summary: F!Cousland character study, Zevran/F!Cousland, Alistair/F!Cousland


**The Lady**

Characters: F!Cousland  
Pairing: Zevran/ F!Cousland, Alistair/F!Cousland  
Rating: T. Nothing graphic at all.  
Summary: Character study.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.

* * *

She was a good, smiling, agreeable person.

Good mannered, too. Very good mannered.  
It was the pride of her mother's, how well educated she was, well versed in poetry, in studies, in politics, in martial arts. True warrior, true lady. Risen to be a princess. Or a queen.

"You are a lady, Elissa," she said to herself every time she really wanted to finally say something she thought.  
(...Your dress is awful, _dear_ Oriana, your wife is annoying, dear brother, your kisses are sloppy, dear knight, and you blush too much, really, I'm not _that _scary, am I?...)

But instead she smiled, and said what was expected.  
She was a lady.

And when everything went to hell, she held her head high, she didn't cry.

She followed Duncan  
(...a bastard, dirty bastard, not forcing my mother to leave, not leaving me time to mourn, throwing me into battle, into madness, into darkness, I hate you...)  
followed him, smiling, calm, into fate, into duty she never wanted.

She was a lady after all.

A lady knew how to lead, but oh Maker, why it had to be her? why this Warden, this Alistair, wanted it to be her?  
(...how can you, how can you force me to be the leader just because _you think you can't_?! what is _that _for an excuse?!)

A lady is polite; a lady knows how to tend to her followers' needs...

And she suffered through his confidences, through his breakups, aching to tell him her deepest thoughts  
(... just how can you cry on my shoulder, cry over this damned Duncan, may he rot on the spikes of the Black City for not telling me how and when I will die, for betraying the little faith I had in his benevolence, just how can you mourn him, and refuse me the right to breakup over my parents, over my first love?..)  
but she never did.

It wasn't his fault she was all ashes inside, after all. He was a good person, this Alistair, adorable even, and she was a lady, she was strong, she was competent. She would pull them all through this Blight, even if she became mad in the end.

And so she pulled, and weeks followed as they walked from Lothering to the elven forest.  
(...she craved something other than humans and their needs, something pure and ancient, Maker, what a disappointment...)

The smiling agreeable mask was like a second skin now - only Morrigan saw it for what it was, and never told anyone, and for that Elissa loved her, and preferred her company to any other. She could be cynical in her presence, bitter and angry, without offending her sensibilities...  
(...she wasn't fair to dear Alistair, it wasn't his fault that the lady was so perfect, that he gifted her with the rose...)

It wasn't polite to refuse the rose, so she accepted. And also, the lady should be in love with the perfect knight, shouldn't she? it was in all the stories they both apparently read.  
(...and he was so warm, nice and earnest, like home, like sun, like the life that should be, maybe he could give something of this to her, heal and mend her, take some of her dark burden and transform it to the light...)

But it was still her who had to teach, to reassure, to lead - even in privacy of their tent. Especially there, at the most open, at the most vulnerable, she had to be the person he loved.  
..No, _of course _I joke, I don't want to be hurt, don't look at me so, my dear, I tease you, that's all, I'm sorry it wasn't funny, yes, I'm tired, let's go warm and slow...  
(...I hurt so much! why, why, WHY don't you see?!...)

A lady has to help people, so she rushed into the assassin's trap, and when they realized that the assassin was still alive she wanted to hear him out - the lady doesn't kill helpless.  
(... without questioning them first at least...)

She was fully prepared to just leave him where he was without assistance  
(... Loghain's man hardly deserves better...)  
and she would have, if only he did beg. If only he tried to appeal to her pity.

Instead he joked, and smiled, and bargained, laying there in dirt, in his own blood, wounded in stomach,  
(...the same wound... father had the same wound...)  
his face uncaring and flirtatious, as if they were in some ballroom in Denerim.

She looked at him, and all she could think was "what a perfect mask he wears".  
(…admiration, that was. He was like her, the same, smiling through pain and near death, who would believe that?)

The lady should have never spared this elven assassin, so sly, so improper, so untrustworthy, but for the first time she did as she thought  
(sod the lady)  
and welcomed him into the group.

It didn't go well.  
He did disturb the balance of their little tight community, so used to each other, with his jokes, and innuendo, and dirty stories, and his complete absence of shame.

For some time she thought it was a really disastrous decision, until one night, after saving the dinner from the consequences of his and Morrigan's disagreement  
(..._really_, Zevran, you shouldn't flirt with her! yes, she is beautiful, I agree, but she can turn you into a toad... what do you mean by _I will kiss you then_?!)  
she suddenly realized that she felt... lighter. The burden was still there, still over her head, but just the time of this ridiculous dispute she managed to almost forget about it.

She looked at him then, and managed to see just a flicker of a smile, not flirtatious, not sly, just - content. Of a job well done.  
(...he does it all on purpose. On purpose!)  
Her burden didn't become less, but it was somewhat easier to carry.

Laughing helped. She still could laugh - what a surprise.  
(... how can he see so easily through my mask? how is he behind his, why can't I see it?)

She saw behind his mask in a Tower, in his nightmare,  
(...a memory!)  
when he was the most open and the most vulnerable, and she saw herself.  
(...hurt, pain, will to survive)  
He saw her, really saw her and straitened, and smiled.  
(... strength)

She believed later, that it was then when she fell for the most improper and the most unsuitable person.

Or maybe it was later, when they got out of the Tower, ahead of Alistair and Wynne who stayed to gather supplies, into the small room in the inn  
(...Spoiled Princess... I could have been a princess, you know? Or a queen. I guess, I still can. I should want it, it would be such a proper happy ending...)  
and he got her laughing half of the night - she never believed that making love could be pure fun, without any solemnity - and held her the other half as she broke down and finally, finally cried over her family, her insufferable sister in law, her very annoying brother, over her burden, her decisions, her faults, all the dances she will never dance, all the years she will never live and children she will never have.

It was the most scandalous dalliance...  
(as her brother will many times remind her afterward)  
but the only things that got her through the darkness of the Deep Roads, the madness of the battles, the darkness and blood, the hollowness of revenge were these tanned arms around her, his strength flowing into her and his whisper  
(...I've got you, I have you, you can be weak tonight, let it all go...)

So, sod the proper.  
Sod the lady.


End file.
